


Blood -

by lilysmiles



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Gen, M/M, Magic, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Vampires, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilysmiles/pseuds/lilysmiles
Summary: There are moments of your life when you can’t help but think, ‘damn, I am screwed’. If lucky, it’s the good kind. If not? Well… all those ‘vampires suck’ jokes would be seen from entirely new perspective. Because becoming the literal son of Dracula is nowhere near as hilarious as it sounds. Especially if you don’t know the plot.SI into Alucard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

It’s funny.

Hilarious even.

I was not Buddhist.

Or Hindu.

Or religious whatsoever.

For all those lucky chaps that believed in Karma and Reincarnation – well done, you guys were right all along.

_Congratu-fucking-lations._

A second chance sounds like such a _wonderful_ idea. I was even excited about it until the moment I understood just WHERE exactly I ended up. In that moment I had the irresistible urge to climb back into my mother’s womb and pretend my existence was a mass hallucination.

For all that I know, I probably deserved this.

But then again, it could be worse.

Way worse.

An extra Stark in the Game of Thrones kind of worse.

So I could count myself lucky.

I am only stuck as a dhampir in the middle ages after all.

Chapter 1

In my first life, I was the eldest child of a history teacher and an accountant. Boring right?

From toddlerhood, I was treated as if the sun shined out of my arse.

Lets say ‘spoiled brat’ was the mildest term that could be used to describe me.

But like all good things, it didn’t last.

I was seven when it happened. ‘The incident’.

For all that I was spoiled, I was still a child. I was lonely.

Out of the three children of my age group in the apartment building we lived in, only one was deemed appropriate company. I guess my mother didn’t appreciate me running away with them to play parkour in a different suburb (but then again jumping across roofs isn’t safe behavior whatsoever). Or being taught to smoke by a neighbor’s elder brother at the tender age of five (although they should be grateful, as that incident was what put me off smoking for _life_ ). Or climbing under cars after stray cats and coming home looking like a piglet.

WHERE WAS MY BRAIN AT THAT AGE???

Due to such incidents, I was more often grounded than not. And while I had many toys and books, I was still bored most of the time.

On that day, I was bored. _Very_ bored.

I had just finished re-reading the Hobbit for the fifth time.

Re-watching dumb Disney movies from my cassette collection for the hundredth time was not on. ‘Borrowing’ one from my parents was something I promised to never do again after the ‘Jurassic Park’ incident (getting the scare of my life and sleeping with the lights on once was enough for me).

I actually had a habit of ‘borrowing’ things. To give me credit, I always put them back. But by that age I gained a stable opinion that adults were all weird and that I never wanted to grow up. But then again, maybe liberating a nameless record from the collection of my friend’s parents wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But maybe they should have been responsible adults that didn’t leave their porn collection lying around.

Yeah…

Brain bleach, where are you?

So being the super bored child that I was, I started staring into space, coincidentally focusing on a boring old teddy bear with its pale plush and glossy black eyes.

So imagine my shock when without any effort on my part, it started moving...

At that age, I hadn’t watched any horror movies (surprisingly). I wasn’t scared. And while I wasn’t exactly good at keeping secrets, I wasn’t bad either.

I had never told anyone about it.

I don’t know why.

Because while it could have been a dream, hallucination or coincidence, something on that scale never happened to me again.

***

Soon after that I became an elder sibling. I am embarrassed to say that I wasn’t a good one. From being the center of attention, I ended up being shoved to the peripheral. While I doubt that my parents were doing it on purpose, the damage was done.

My parents weren’t exactly bad parents. But they weren’t good ones either. They could only find it in themselves to focus on raising one child. To love one child.

What made it worse was moving.

Unlike my previous neighborhood and school, I didn’t fit in.

Moving in the middle of the school year does that…

From that moment on, my childhood was officially over.

After a while, I forgot most of the strange things that happened when I was little, passing things off as an overactive imagination. Interestingly, I can vividly recall the fact that I played with fairies when I was very young, but no matter what, I can’t remember what they looked like.

If I was anyone else, maybe I would have brushed it off. Submerged myself into mainstream school life, but I wasn’t that kind of person. I was me.

By the time I was twelve, I understood that I was a deviation from the norm. Normal people can’t find books of needed content in libraries by closing their eyes and following their intuition.

Most importantly, when normal people wish for things, they _don’t_ come true.

By that point, my parents had mostly given up on me. My absolutely normal sibling was the center of their universe. But then, my brother was born.

We were weirdly similar.

W even looked alike.

Just like me, my brother said he played with fairies.

I was the only one who believed him.

Maybe that was my chance, but I didn’t take it. Instead of becoming partners in crime, we couldn’t stand each other. We were too alike. Like the same poles of a magnet.

After that point, my presence started to become toxic.

Plants died around me. Every pet I had suffered a premature death. People constantly argued in my vicinity.

I guess mostly feeling negative emotions while having a gift actually makes a difference. Who knew? But from that moment on I started exploring.

Esoteric books on the internet, occult forums. Candles and cards. Thread and blood.

I was found out.

To say that my mother wasn’t happy was an understatement.

While she always suspected, she didn’t have any solid proof. Until she did.

Turned out I wasn’t the first.

Or the last.

At that point I felt like a real-life Harry Potter. But with no super cool powers. No magic school. And in this life nothing was free.

Everything had a price.

My mother’s side of the family was descended from real-life witches.

My great-great-grandmother was the last. She was a healer. But out of all her seven children only the youngest survived.

And regardless of the seventh son myth, he was absolutely _normal_.

Whatever the movies show, our world doesn’t work that way. While witches are real, a single witch is weak. Having one or two perks barely accumulates to anything. One could live their entire life without knowing. Or noticing. A _thing_.

Witches _do_ have extended life spans. That much _is_ true. They can live to be well over a hundred, but there is a reason for that.

Witches accumulate power. At the end of their lives they pass it on to a relative. If they don’t, their death is excruciating and they cannot rest in peace.

My grandfather never finished his training. Never received the familial power.

Instead of one single powerful witch in the family, there were multiple mediocre ones that gradually lost their powers with age.

Like my mother.

I was a witch (or warlock, whatever fits). Worse, I _wasn’t_ a healer. I was something else.

I had my own gift. The extra drops of inherited power just amplified it. I could conduct random rituals with the weirdest incantations and they would work.

To say that my mother wasn’t happy is an understatement.

From that moment on I was banned from doing anything of that sort in her house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

To say my life was boring was putting it lightly. I got a job. Finished school. Got kicked out. Rented a flat. Started Uni.

Sometimes I partied.

Slowly but surely I grew apart with the few friends I had.

Boring…

Then there were the rituals.

While they _did_ work, they didn’t always go the way they were meant to.

And they always had a price.

As a weak witch, I could not have sex. _Ever_. For some reason that could lead to my gift passing on.

Sad right?

Exchanging fleeting pleasures for the one thing that made my life worthwhile was not something I could afford to do.

Lets just say that none of my ex’s were happy with being platonic.

But while a talent in rituals is considered a ‘dark’ gift fuelled by negativity in most cases, it is very diverse. I could basically do anything. Fulfil my every wish. In this case patience was a virtue. While there were never any immediate results, it was way better than being able to heal or have prophetic dreams from my point of view.

I didn’t notice, but with every ritual I became more withdrawn with every passing day. I felt as if I was living behind a thick shield of glass. The only thing that could get through were powerful negative emotions.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

I don’t remember my death.

One moment I was conducting another of my self-made rituals which was probably what got me into this situation in the first place, and the next, everything was gone.

I was never scared of death. I was scared of nothing. _Literally_. Fading into obscurity and becoming dirt is something out of a nightmare. The _concept_ of nothing.

I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell. Truly, with so many cultures how would that even work? A separate realm of death for every single religion? What if family members are of different beliefs? Does that mean that after death they will be separated for eternity?

To me, religion and belief are two very different things.

Interestingly enough, complex fears are one of the things that define a developed human mind from that of an animal. Not having any conscious fears that are not defined by one’s survival instincts is either a sign of degradation, insufficient development, insanity or inhumanity.

Just a piece of advice, always hold onto your fears. Always. They might seem like something that makes you weak, but they don’t. They give reason for further development of character. Don’t stop fighting your fears. Never give up. But always remember that it is the process that truly matters. That some things are not meant to be mastered.

Maybe I should have listened to my own advice.

But I didn’t. Even if I knew I was going to die.

Somehow.

Maybe it was that magical sixth sense that supernatural creatures are deemed to have. Maybe it was the instinct of a witch that didn’t have a student.

I didn’t feel dread exactly, but neither was the feeling normal. It was as if I had a cluster of subzero butterflies nestled within my stomach. It certainly wasn’t pleasant.

Perhaps it was my intuition talking, I would never actually know. But something pushed me to conduct a ritual. One I had never done before. One I would never repeat again. Ironically, my last.

I no longer remember the details. I don’t think I am meant to.

With my actions, I don’t think I had angered Death. Not really. More like amused. I most certainly wasn’t the first. Wouldn’t be the last.

Mind you, Death is fair, but it despises cowards. The cheaters. But I was never going to cheat. I wasn’t running from Death. What happened after was what mattered. While stumbling in the dark through an endless labyrinth, I unknowingly found the one and only exit.

Death definitely had a laugh at my expense.

I was in no way shape or form trying to expand my natural lifespan initially written in by Fate. I was just tweaking my starting circumstances in my next life. Taking a doping before the beginning of the next race. My next great adventure.

I was aiming to be reborn. And _remember_. To still be _me_. That was all that mattered.

Mind you, if I was born originally born into any other world, my approach would have been unlikely to work. But I was in the right place in the right time. Luck, I guess.

I didn’t understand it at the time, but as someone who studied university level maths, the multiuniverse theorem was relatively simple to understand.

The Biblical phrase ‘made in God’s image’ now makes an awful amount of sense.

I don’t know if the universe I was born in was the original one. Maybe, maybe not. Even if it wasn’t, everything is relative.

All I know is that in my original world, every single human had the tiniest amount of the power of creation. On its own it wasn’t much (don’t forget the witches, never forget those). Not enough to even light a candle (unless you are a witch). But when combined…

Basically, if anyone remembers quantum physics, where the observer’s thoughts and perspective matter and affect the result, you can probably imagine what happened.

Throughout the existence of humanity, humans thought up gods and heroes, deities and monsters, demons and fairies. Ironically, it was due to that belief that ‘there was something out there’ something actually was. I can’t tell you what came first, the chicken or the egg. Maybe the ‘beings’ were created through mass belief by humans. Or maybe the ‘beings’ came to humans in dreams in order to feed on the power. Maybe the belief of millions created the fictional worlds or maybe humans dreamt up actually existing realms. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they are all _real_. And connected.

If a world is known in another world, there is most certainly a link. And through those connections, hitchhikers like myself could squeeze through.

And reincarnate.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I didn’t come to at birth.

I don’t think baby brains could handle the extent of the information from my original self. After all, small brain = small storage device, large brain = large storage device. I can say from experience that trying to fit 64 GB of data onto a 2 GB SD card doesn’t work.

I started getting glimpses and weird dreams around the age of three.

My mother was definitely worried sick. My new father, although he wasn’t showing it, wasn’t much better. Although I feel like he was only worried because she was. After all, how could he know how infants are meant to behave.

My mother’s name was Lisa. To calm me down, she would gently rock me against her chest. She was a sweet and kind woman with nerves of steel. But all her efforts just made me cry harder. After all, everything was _wrong_. My mother was a redhead. She most definitely _wasn’t_ platinum blonde.

In comparison, being held by my father wasn’t as traumatizing. After all, father had black hair. Although it was much longer that it was ever meant to be, as long as I didn’t look into his eyes everything was ok. Because then I would lose my grasp on reality. My father had ocean-blue eyes.

But they were _red_.

My mother tried helping me with mundane medicine, but nothing worked. And in some instances, I refused to be treated. For some reason being subjected to a LEACH was unsanitary, counterproductive and moronic in my confused mind. I guess she complained. And then father was involved.

His face expression when he saw just WHAT she was trying to use to ‘cure’ me was _priceless_. I think that was the first time when I saw his expressionless mask slip so noticeably. Lets just say that the explanation that followed was thorough and very long.

Although mother was a doctor, she was still subjected to common misconceptions and bias that went around. While father mentored her, making sure her education was superb compared to her peers, she still had much to learn.

I wasn’t privy to the entirety of their conversation, but my father must have convinced her to let me be. Or at least let _him_ look after my wellbeing.

One thing that was strange about our family was that mother and I didn’t live with father. He would sneak into our house in the village late at night. I don’t think any of the neighbors ever saw him.

I admit to having many unsavory thoughts and misconceptions about our situation. As more and more memories settled in their rightful place, I applied common scenarios to our family.

As it was obviously the underdeveloped middle ages, and father always looked and acted far more educated than the rest (even mother) he was obviously a noble of some kind. Sneaking in during the night to not be seen obviously didn’t speak well of their relationship. I came to the conclusion that mother was his common-born mistress and I was the obviously illegitimate by-product.

One thing I had in common in both lives is that as a child, I could never hold my mouth shut.

Lets say that the whole thing made for an extremely awkward dinner conversation.

***

Lisa

I love Adrian, I really do.

But sometimes I look at him and realize that when I married my husband I really didn’t know what I was getting into.

It pains me to admit it, but when I came to Dracula and asked him to teach me medicine, I think it was only his surprise and my braveness (foolishness, ignorance, naiveté, so on) that stopped him from tearing out my throat. I know I shouldn’t do so, but I can’t help but delude myself. I know my husband is not human, a _monster_. Not a good man ( _or a man at all_ ) whatsoever. But I pretend that if I don’t see it, it isn’t happening.

There is a very good reason for why I refused to live in his castle. After all, pretending ignorance is much harder when every night, you try to drown out the screams.

But slowly, but surely my picture-perfect view on reality started to crumble.

It began with my pregnancy.

I was so happy. For I was a loving wife that wanted children. Surely my husband will be glad.

But he _wasn’t_. If I didn’t know him better, I would say he was terrified. I thought that maybe he was unsure of being a father, but then I realized that wasn’t it. Something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. But he wouldn’t tell me anything.

I couldn’t change a thing.

In a relationship, one person loves while that other allows themselves to be loved.

It is obvious which one I represent.

And I was fine with that.

But what I didn’t know was that one day my passiveness would lead to this. That I would be the treasured rose in the garden, guarded from all and any disturbances.

And now my husband looks at me as if he is making a difficult decision. And I know _nothing_.

Then I felt the thirst. One I couldn’t sate with anything.

He brought me blood.

And I _drank it_.

I had to literally live on blood for the remainder of my pregnancy. Anything else made me sick. I don’t want to know where my husband got it from. Especially in such quantities.

But obviously it can’t be human. _Right_?

It’s likely from some sheep that acted as donors and were then let go. ( _Do you really think that, silly Lisa?_ )

But then our baby was born. Our little Adrian. He was so beautiful. He made everything worthwhile.

With all my heart I wished for him to be normal. To be human. Or as close to it as possible anyway. But sadly, my baby needed to live on a combination of food and blood to grow. I was devastated.

But then I realized that it wasn’t the diet that makes one a monster. It’s the upbringing. And so I vowed to myself that my darling, my little Adrian will be a sweet child taught to love thy neighbors. That he will never be a vampire. That one day he will prefer his human nature. And perhaps, that day would be the day when my husband would embrace his inner humanity as well.

But I was wrong.

The older my child grew, the more distant our relationship. He always preferred his father. Always a smart child. A perceptive child, possessing what my husband called ‘analytical’ thinking (whatever that means).

I dreaded the day Adrian would move to the castle. But it had to happen. After all, the neighbors were already getting suspicious. They always called me a witch. But forgot all the degrading words they threw at me when they needed help. But I did nothing to feed those rumors as I am no witch after all. But Adrian was different and on more than one occasion I found myself suspecting them to be true. At least for _him_.

But now that Adrian is a child of five, I can no longer hide him within the house. He is of the age to interact with others. To play with other children. To make friends.

But any attempts I have made to introduce him to those his age have ended badly.

He is too well-behaved. Too clean. Too beautiful (God forgive me for calling him that, as he is a boy). He doesn’t belong among the common folk, no matter how much I wish otherwise. He doesn’t _want_ to belong.

Everything is up to him after all.

If he says yes, he will move to a place where I will not follow.

But perhaps it’s better that way.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dracula

Adrian was strange.

At first I let it slide. After all, dhampir are the definition of strange. Not vampire nor human. Belonging to both and neither. The forbidden. The worshiped. The hated.

So unlike vampire fledglings that follow a strict hierarchy. Although a Sire bond can influence a dhampir, they cannot be controlled in that way.

But that is just the very tip of a very large iceberg. There is a good reason why breeding the creatures is forbidden. Why they are so rare. After all, what vampire is stupid enough to create their own natural predator? A creature that while capable of consuming human blood would always prefer to drain vampires.

Well, I am. Apparently.

When Lisa came to me, shining with happiness. I was shocked. One thing I didn’t think about was _this_.

When she refused to become a vampire, I was secretly glad. She is like a ray of sunshine in my dark, eternal existence. I wouldn’t want her light to be tarnished by a vampire’s reality.

I know that she prefers to be ignorant. That if I say that she loves me as who I really am, with all my inner demons, I would be telling a lie. But I am happy with what I have. Her rose-tinted glasses are a small price to pay for happiness. For love. For a family.

After all, I am just too powerful.

There is no one close to my power level in this world for me.

My chances of a relationship with an equal are therefore slim.

I am embarrassed to admit that I considered terminating her pregnancy. The only thing that stopped me was the danger to Lisa’s life. Because it’s not just the body and blood a dhampir feeds on. The energy of both parents is intricately tied to its existence. Killing a dhampir before at least five years of age means the mother’s definite death. Perhaps slow, and hard to link, but still death.

When my son was born, I didn’t interact with him beyond feeding until he was a toddler.

I cared for him. Certainly. After all, he looked so much like my Lisa. Perhaps that was why I made the initial mistake of treating him like her extension. Her compulsory attachment.

But then I realized that he is his own character. An individual. And regardless of his looks, his personality was completely inherited from me. As well as his thirst.

And _that_ was a problem.

***

Adrian

I am moving in with my father.

It’s official.

Final.

_Non-negotiable._

I guess I understand where he is coming from.

It’s not everyday you come home to see your son eating the neighbors.

Ok, that actually sounded funny.

But it’s not. _Not really_.

The only good thing about the entire situation is mother’s ignorance. But that’s about it.

The situation didn’t escalate in a single day. It was a wound that took a while to fester. To bleed and get infected.

For all that the villagers disliked my mother, they absolutely loathed me. From the first day that I was forced to interact with the insects it was very obvious to see the extent of the gap between us. But instead of trying to develop and pull themselves up towards my level they chose a different tactic.

After all, breaking my wings and pulling me down would work as well.

It started mild. ‘Innocent.’ The rumors flew like the wind. From the most wild to the most unsavory. But none of it touched me. After all, to me they were alike worms in a dirt patch. The likelihood of their influence on my future or any relevance to my latter life was slim to none. A smart group would have given up. But as I said before, none of them were smart.

Things died down for a bit before escalating with a new force.

It wasn’t the adults that were the main issue. It was the children. Being old enough to act upon their parents’ hatred without being mature enough to understand the reasons or consequences…

Usually I didn’t pay them much attention. They were too weak to land any damage even when gathering in groups. But on that day they had crossed a line.

I can ignore _many_ things.

But offending my mother in front of me is not one of them.

I may not be the most attentive or loving son, but there are lines that I would not allow to be crossed.

And then there was the hunger.

It could not be sated by normal food, only with the mysterious ‘potions’ brought home by father. But it was always present in the back of my mind.

I didn’t need to control it. It wasn’t too difficult or disruptive. Didn’t require any active effort on my part to fight off.

But on that day I did the one thing I had never done before.

I let go.

And the grass was stained red.

And the bullies were no more.

And for the first time in my life I wasn’t just full, I was _gorged_. And I _enjoyed it_.

But for all that my meal was wonderful, there was something missing.

I instinctively knew that there was something much more satisfying out there.

Then I looked up and felt like I was caught with my hands in the cookie jar. It was father. He _saw_.

But more importantly, he was a source of that something. _Delicious_...

And I wanted a _taste_.

***

Dracula

I am proud to say that when Adrian threw himself at me with thirst shining in his eyes, it took some effort on my part to subdue him.

That is something wonderful, for I have birthed such a powerful child. Had he been a pureblooded vampire, I would have been even prouder, but alas, some things are beyond even my power.

The problem with dhampir is that they can go both ways. They can inherit the strengths of humans and vampires, their weaknesses or a combination of the two. The last is the most common. For example, a being vulnerable to the sun, being able to consume food and having an extended lifespan or even immortality.

When weaknesses of both species are inherited, the result is a sorry sight. Imagine a sun-sensitive, mortal being with a human’s strength and complete dependence on both blood and food.

It’s the former type of dhampir that make the hybrids forbidden and dangerous. They are the ones that hunt vampires. And Adrian has just confirmed himself to belong in this group. After all, a thirst for powerful blood is a definite tell.

I would be unable to tell much more from observation without conducting proper rituals. But that is not an issue. Subjecting my son to certain procedures is no longer negotiable.

I didn’t want to do it, but now that I have my concerns confirmed some things cannot be avoided.

While as his father, I have some sway over him, compared to a Sire bond my influence is miniscule. But there are rituals that can counter that. Officially tying such a powerful offspring to my line is just a start.

I would essentially be creating a tether that would forever tie Adrian to myself.

My orders will be prioritized.

But at least he is young.

He will get used to it.

It is better this way.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I came to gradually.

For some time I felt like I was floating in an endless abyss with short glimpses when I accidentally reached the surface before being submerged again.

Having the memories of two lives merge into one single memory package was an unpleasant experience. Neither came out unscathed.

From my first life I could no longer recall my name, or any others. It was a tape covered with fingerprints, rips and smudges. But perhaps losing all emotional attachments from that life is a good thing.

Keeping my gift makes everything worthwhile.

Unfortunately, this life is nothing simple.

I am stuck in the middle ages as a freaking son of Dracula.

Sounds like the beginning of some chick-flick, right? Always hated _those_ …

But the elements of horror aren’t just present as decorations. There is no inappropriate content that has to be cut from film. The bodies are real. The blood is real. The gore and stink of the human cities is **_also_** _real_.

An I am a dhampir.

And loving it.

It could be much worse. On top of being a warlock I could have reincarnated as a female (I think that would have been a rather short life). Or lost my powers altogether…

I have been born into a position simultaneously within and outside the hierarchy of the vampiric nobility. I have been born to educated parents, which wouldn’t stunt my intellectual growth. I have access to the library containing texts thought long gone. The castle even has the comforts and utilities of the 21st century. I am also encouraged to develop magically. I have power, beauty and social standing. The three things that nullify all the negatives that come with my birth during this time.

But for all of that, I am terrified.

Because my father is frickin’ _Dracula_.

While in my past life I definitely watched many movies and anime, read many books, I cannot place my life among any of those. When reading self-inserts I was always amused by how the main character could always immediately recognize just who and more importantly, _where_ they were reincarnated as, right from the cradle. _Realistic much_?

Even if you wake up in a cupboard under the stairs, _how_ do you _immediately_ know you are Harry Potter? Be confident enough to immediately start threatening your relatives with magic you can’t even use and perhaps don’t have? And even _if_ you _are_ Harry Potter, how are you certain you are _THAT_ Harry Potter? Or that the original’s powers actually decided to stick around?

That if you saw a movie once some ten years ago that you can immediately identify all the main characters by name and looks and start plotting world domination right from birth? That the characters would even look like their real-life counterparts?

I don’t think human memory actually works that way.

And that is my problem…

 _Which_ Dracula is my father?

Just _how many_ Dracula featuring movies, books, anime and video games are out there? How many just feature vampires that make the existence of an off-screen character of Dracula possible?

How many Draculas have dark, long hair? _ALL OF THEM_!

How many wives did they have? 3? 2? 1? None?

What about children?

I vaguely remember something about a dark-haired dhampir from some anime, a blonde HUMAN kid from some movie and a brunet _daughter_ from a cartoon.

At least my mother vetoed naming me Alucard…

(Bye Hellsing anime…thankfully see you _never_ … I will miss you… _Not_.)

That would have been a running joke. The only thing more cliché would have been naming me Vlad or Dracula the 2nd. _I can probably guess what ‘D’ stands for_ …

I would have requested a name change.

 _Totally_.

Or drowned myself from embarrassment.

Or started hunting all vampires to compensate for my wounded sensibilities, ( _D I totally understand, if you need a shoulder to cry on I am there for you. Or **will** be there for you. If you are ever born in this universe, that is_).

To add to my dilemma, I didn’t play many video games in the first place. I also had a very bad habit of only watching the first season of anime and different TV series. And I regret nothing ( _most of them were a waste of brain storage space_ ).

Lies.

 _I regret everything_.

**_Get me out of here!!!_ **

Please…

I am even agreeable to the PG-rated, sparkly hippy vampires from Twilight that poop rainbows and eat Bambi. At least I know what to expect there.

Just kidding. Twilight must **_BURN_**!

I would take my current position in a possible 18+++ fantasy horror set in the Middle Ages with elements of extreme violence and explicit sexual content as warnings over _THAT_ any day. _Tough luck, cauz it’s looking like that’s what my life now is…_

To add to everything, my new father had the ‘genius’ idea to tie me to his bloodline. Considering my luck with rituals and how my powers would never let them hurt me, twisting the result to accommodate, I can definitely expect surprises.

I wouldn’t even blink an eye if I am a dhampir in my next life. Or a vampire. Or some random creature with some vampire blood in their veins. Or Dracula _(father?)_ coming along for the ride.

Honestly, I am not even gonna try and guess the consequences.

I can’t even muster up any effort to be angry.

It’s my life.

 _Whatever_.

At least I can now call up the entirety of the power of our bloodline to answer to my will.

That counts for something?

 _Right_?


End file.
